


animism

by reincarnivore



Category: Kingdom Hearts (Video Games)
Genre: Other, is a keyblade a character, objectophilia, riku/keyblade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 11:27:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28562769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reincarnivore/pseuds/reincarnivore
Summary: riku is home for the first time in ages, all to himself. you know what that means.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7





	animism

The beach is warm and quiet as it ever is. It's been far too long since he'd stood by the edge of the cool ocean water, watching vacantly as the tides slowly rolls further up in the waning sunlight, until it slips between his bare toes. Riku spends perhaps too long wriggling his feet into the wet sand until he's inches deep in it, ankles soaking into the water and up his pant legs. Mumbling to himself as habitually had learned in his absence, "I should've rolled them up, I guess," and with a few jerks on his leg upends himself from the soupy muck.

Kairi and Sora had headed home hours ago, but neither questioned when Riku stood behind, waving as they floated off towards the town. It was not unknown that despite this place being his home, that Riku would not be going  _ home _ . A year and some of solid freedom has him far more appeased in solitude- and while he very much appreciated the doting his long lonely friends for the last few days, Riku relishes in an opportunity for solitude. Or so he had thought. As the sun slinks slowly away beyond the abyss of the ocean, habitually, Riku’s weapon appears in his hands- more used to the Souleater, he blinks down with a curious cant of his head to his new and shiny keyblade taking its place. He stabs the sharp end into the ground gently, though the wet sand eats it eagerly, and levels his palms at the end of the hilt, idling the chain between his fingers. He pulls each rung out, counting them in his head while his eyes trail across its glossy surface. A thumb brushes over that central eye as it gazes endlessly around it, a hum caught in Riku’s throat. No words come to him, however, and his hand just keeps wandering across his keyblade’s many intricate surfaces. It’s almost too distracting, but once he finds the end of its chain pulled through his fingers, he tugs it firmly from the sand, snapping it into his palm more properly, and turns back towards the grassy shoreline.

The island has lots of places for hiding himself in. At first he thinks of the secret place, a secluded dark place stuffed with memories but it reminds him too much of shadows lingering beneath the rootwork of the wall, and his wandering has him hauling up a ladder to one of the haphazardly built buildings on the side of the cliffs.

The sun sets so beautifully here. Riku had spent far too long in Twilight Town where it eternally sits in that aforementioned twilight, so when the sun finally slips past the endless expanse of turquoise sea, he can hardly stand to even blink and miss it. Like an old memory, the waves usher him relaxed, and even as he kneels by the open window well to stare out at the glittering amber horizon, his posture loosens and he ends up reclined down on the wall, eyes softly lidding. It's so much warmer on the island, too, hardly noticing the damp straits of his pant legs, the humidity sinking into his lungs, sea salt and all. He lays his weapon awkwardly across his lap, gently dragging his fingers down it as he lulls himself to sleep. He thinks, maybe, he should lull his keyblade, too, as it’s been in as much danger as him as of late. It’s a good, strong and loyal weapon, even as it finds itself transformed into this new shape. He isn’t exactly sure that the Souleater and the Way to the Dawn are the same weapon transformed, or if they simply looked similar, but he has an inkling it’s the same weapon protecting him all these months, years nearly now.

He awakens with a start sometime far enough into the night he can hardly see ahead of him. A 'start' might be exaggerating, as anyone would see his body hardly tense as his eyes flick open, a rough rasping from the back of his throat, but it's more of a reaction than he would normally spare. A strange feeling of being watched, and while his eyes become used to the darkness, he slowly peers around the room, catching shadows in his vision from the sliver moonlight that peeks in front the window. Glancing over his shoulder, he peers up at the stars between sparse clouds, pushing his hair from his face with a sigh. He stops and listens for a long while, but only that gentle wash of waves greets his anxiety. "Must've been a bird or something," he mumbles to himself again having not distinctly remembered hearing something, but lacking any other answer. Instinctively, he grips across his keyblade still diligently protecting his lap, pulling it up into his arm with a frustrated sigh. 

He's, too sleepy, perhaps. Again, his hand trails up its smooth surface, palm rubbing across the webbing of its draconic wing. "You make good company," he hums, cradling it up against his chest and gently pressing his cheek to the white winged tip now at eye level. He tries to shut his eyes again, focus on the waves pulling him to sleep, but with his hackles raised to apparently nothing, he simply sits in uncomfortable silence. Silence, still, is it's own comfort, and perhaps not enough to grant him sleep, it does grant him definite solitude, and solitude brings a well known way to pass the time.

Slipping his posture down the wall just a touch, he balances his keyblade awkwardly between arm and chest while his free hand makes short work down the front of his stomach- he tugs up the hem of his shirt past where it already exposed his belly, fingers slipping past the waistband to restrainedly itch at himself. Might as well do something with the night, if it's interested in giving him a mote of pleasure. Easily, since it's been a while since Riku had had an opportunity to pleasure himself, he grows warm and hard beneath even the most awkward of touches, he can hardly stand to remove his hand to undo the button of his pants, a moan already stifling at the back of his teeth. He tugs his pants down just barely enough to free himself, but not enough the bare skin of his ass would touch the cold wood of the floor.

Bucking into his fist eagerly, Riku can hardly contain himself, or so he'd think, his noises of pleasure muted so quietly if he hadn't been alone in the room none asleep would hear him. Without thinking, he presses his face to his blade again, mouth opening to frustratedly nibble at one of the outstretched feathers. It's very cool against his face compared to the warm humid night and his hot blood thumping in his ears, so he instinctively brings his blade closer until the flat length of it is pressed to the exposed skin of his tummy. He can hardly suppress the shiver that wracks him between the sensation of cold metal and his warm palm wringing pleasure between his legs.

He pauses for a moment, slowly opening his eyes he was unaware he had even closed. He spots that wet slick forming between his thumb and forefinger, playing around with the shine of it in the moonlight before his gaze wanders to the equally shining material of his blade. Well, this  _ could _ be weirder, he thinks for once without speaking it, and since he might as well, slowly pulls that cool metal between his legs. Again, he shudders when it touches him, his hips bucking into it instinctively, and he wraps his thumb around himself and the hilt for the pressure. He catches on the texture of it, the grip ribbed against each sensitive inch, a sigh creeping from his nearly drooling open mouth. It’s deafening, the wet repetitive sound of his palm around himself, each little moan that pulls past his lips, a rough swallow of saliva sticking wet to his teeth and throat. From lack of otherwise, he gets off on the sounds of himself easily, and the lingering thought he was, still, in a public place, and he had sworn to have heard something earlier. 

He doesn't last long, his stroking stuttering to a stop with a choked back moan, Riku presses his face hard into the winged end, he spills hot warm streaks across his bare tummy and his blades now quite warmed handle. Again, his eyes squeeze shut as he wrings each drop of cum from himself, regardless of the mess that pumps across his skin, his still open pants, his poor weapon. When he finally manages to open them again, wheezing from the strain of climax, Riku looks down and spots where thick, sticky drops ended up to dry, and very suddenly remembers the eye that stares endlessly above the hilt. "Oops," he quietly laughs to himself, reaching over to rub the fluid that landed there off, though only where the eye lingers, the rest can stay for now. "Didn't mean to blind you. If you do even see." Of course, he hadn't meant to fuck his blade at all, it just sort of occured in a horny teenager blaze, but since it hadn't up and left him, he can only assume the thing either doesn't care, or doesnt have the sentience to care. Keyblades were a tricky thing to understand, if it felt anything at all, or simply acted to instinctive will. Either way, Riku decides it doesn't care if its wielder uses it to masterbate, which is good, because he was relishing in the heatsinks it was providing, and couldn’t promise it would be the only time he’d let himself get a little more than debased with the thing. Even as he tucks himself back in his pants, idly wiping at drops of cum strewn about himself, his keyblade remains tucked in his arms, and with it by his side, and the inevitable exhaustion following, he does manage to sleep again for the night.


End file.
